Hot Tea
by Negotiatrix
Summary: A series of conversations which, while seeming random, all have some connection with tea. And our favorite former Shinsengumi member of course.


Disclaimer: While many historical facts and persons have been consulted in the retelling of these incidents, do not expect them appear in their true form.

**HOT TEA**

**Conversation One**: A woman alone has always been the target of passing ruffians.

A young person was in the courtyard garden, kneeling and deadheading the flowers that grew in artful abandon around the tiny pond. A teahouse stood at the far end of the garden, while the porch of the house she lived in was on the other side of the pond before her. Both structures had seen better days. Her hair was bound up in a scarf, and her hands on the shears were rough and chapped, yet she was no servant or peasant girl. Lady Tokio, former personal secretary to Princess Teru of Aizu, was enjoying the unusually sunny autumn day in Aomori.

The Kurasawa household was one of the most well-to-do establishments in the area, but that did not mean that its members were at leisure. All of the exiles from Aizu teetered near poverty, though some more than others. The Kurasawas worked just as hard as their few servants did to maintain the household. It was one of the things which had pleased Tokio about her new home.

Physical labor, she found, was an excellent remedy for remembering too much about her old life. Her mind may cry out at the lack of intellectual pursuits, but by the end of a day's work she could block it out with much needed sleep. On this day, her intellect was focused entirely on locating and eliminating the next withered flower when a deep voice interrupted.

"The color of the flowers has already faded away, yet one bloom still recalls the scent of home."

Startled, Tokio dropped her shears. She looked up to find a stranger standing on the opposite bank of the pond, lazily smoking a cigarette. Tall and lanky, he leaned against the post of the house with a lazy smirk. His golden eyes, fixed intently upon her, were breathtaking. For some reason, his confident air unnerved her. After a moment the man chuckled softly, and she realized she had been staring. In spite of her embarrassment Tokio stood, straightened her work apron and steadily met his gaze.

Whoever this man was, there was only one reason that he could be quoting poetry to her. While unused to being pursued herself, she had witnessed and even assisted enough assignations in the Aizu court to know what his intent was. She wasn't sure yet how she wished to respond to his invitation, but there was one thing she simply could not let pass.

"I believe you are mixing your metaphors, or at least your poets," Tokio said. The man merely raised one eyebrow impossibly high. Immoderately annoyed now at this stranger's intrusion, she continued, "Those lines are from two different poems, sir."

He stared at her, blowing out of stream of smoke. "I merely felt moved by a lovely sight. I certainly did not expect to have my literary references critiqued by you," he finally replied. His slight emphasis on the word 'you' told Tokio that he assumed her to be a servant. His next words confirmed it.

"Have you been reading your mistress's love letters?"

Tokio lifted her chin a notch and refused to reply to such nonsense. He smiled in a way that she was sure must normally make women melt.

"Why don't you walk with me behind the teahouse there and you may instruct me in the art of quoting poetry to ladies?" He was already striding around the pond toward her as he spoke.

Tokio could almost feel her blood boil at the arrogance of the man. She stamped her foot in anger and opened her mouth to set this intruder in his place. Before she could get a single word out, she tripped over the basket she had left in the path. She automatically put her arm back to catch herself, but never contacted the ground. Instead, she was caught and pulled against the man's chest. She looked up to find those curiously intent eyes fixed upon her as his head bent lower.

His face was lean and weathered, yet she could see that he was not old. He must be about her own age, she thought. His lips, which earlier had been drawn together in the thin line of his smirk, were now soft and slightly parted as they descended.

"Mr. Ichinohe!" a sharp voice cut across the garden. Tokio opened her eyes and blushed when she realized she had closed them in expectation of a kiss. The strange man's face was still a breath away. He rolled his eyes heavenward, but his expression softened momentarily as he steadied her on her feet. Then he was stooping gracefully to retrieve the cigarette he had dropped when he caught her fall.

The owner of the sharp voice came around the corner of the porch just then and the man joined her.

"I am ready to leave now, Mr. Ichinohe," she said petulantly as she took his arm.

Tokio recognized her from when Mrs. Kurasawa had pointed her out in town. She was a relative newcomer to Aomori. Mrs. Kurasawa had said the woman's betrothed, a Hajime Saitou, was an old friend of Mr. Kurasawa's.

_So who is this Mr. Ichinohe that she is with today? _she wondered to herself as she watched him disappear around the side of the house with the woman.

"I must apologize. I had intended to introduce you more formally to our guests," a voice startled Tokio out of her reverie. She turned to find Yaeko Kurasawa spoiling a very formal bow by laughing through it.

"I'm not sure that I'm missing out on anything! That man is terribly rude!" Tokio said, then laughed nervously. She wondered just how much her hostess, or the other woman, had witnessed. Yaeko studied her with a small smile as they walked back to the house.

* * *

T_he line of poetry that Mr. Ichinohe speaks is, as Tokio points out, a composite of two poems. I found these some time ago on the web. They are old and Japanese, but I don't remember the poet or source. I have included them here since both are worthy of being read in their entirety. -Neg _

Well...as for people  
their hearts are unknowable.  
As for my birthplace,  
the flowers do  
emit the fragrance of bygone days.

Color of the flower  
Has already faded away,  
While in idle thoughts  
My life passes vainly by,  
As I watch the long rains fall.


End file.
